


Swearing Is Art

by leviathncas (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/leviathncas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a peaceful day in the Edelstein-Beilschmidt household, until the newest addition decided to comment on his art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swearing Is Art

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Foreververse AU, a collection of stories that are all fills of prompts from **imagineyourotp** over on tumblr. All stories in the 'verse are loosely interconnected. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Imagine your OTP has a young child who one day – unknowingly – says a swear word. Person A is horrified and scolds the child, making sure he won't repeat it, while Person B laughs hysterically._

Light filtered pleasantly into the open studio room, the bay windows open to allow the gentle breeze of the early summer into the space to air it out. The pale curtains billowed lazily along with the deciduous trees surrounding the side of the house, the air crisp with the smell of coming rain despite the lack of cumulonimbus clouds in the baby blue sky. 

Canvas and stands were sprawled and leaning everywhere around the white-carpeted room, the blank ones standing out against the light beige walls and dark leather sofas, the completed and partially-filled ones scattered on the carpet, miraculously refraining from dripping the drying paint that was flung across them. Paint tubes, brushes, and palettes occupied the low coffee table, while oil pastels and charcoal rested on top of a discarded canvas so as not to ruin anything else. 

Currently residing on the large easel in the center of the room was a partially filled canvas, dripping and smeared with an assortment of the mixed primaries, blended just so to obtain the secondary colors in patterns that alluded to grand works of abstract art in general. Standing before it, regarding the work in progress with a sharp set of violet eyes, was the work's creator, pale skin stained with all means of medium as he absently fiddled with his brushes. 

Sitting comfortably tucked into one end of the couch was a pale composer with matching violet eyes that were quickly skimming the sheets of paper in front of him, his own hands covered in ink as he scrawled note after note onto the measures on the page. 

Across from him was another pale man with white hair to match that of the young child now mixing more colors of paint on the discarded canvas, studiously mashing buttons on his PS Vita as his tongue lolled out in concentration, his red eyes narrowed. 

It was quite a peaceful day in the Edelstein-Beilschmidt household, one of many that had begun creeping into their lives when they'd met the little artist that now lived in their home, ate with them at dinner, and slept between them at night. Neither Gilbert nor Roderich had known how much they craved the peace and quiet until white twin braids, eccentric clothes, and a young mind that sought out the artistic beauty in the little things in life demanded their attention and stole their hearts. 

Roderich flipped through the pages of the score in his hands, frowning out of habit as he looked over the lines to make sure he kept consistent time and tempo throughout the section he was filling in. He huffed audibly as he scrounged for another sheet. 

"You're huffing, little master." 

Roderich glanced up at the albino across from him, still focused on the game in his hand, and snorted, going back to his music. "Your tongue is hanging out, moron. You look like a dog." 

Gilbert snickered, nudging him with one of his feet. "But I'm your bi –" 

The albino let out a yelp as Roderich kicked him pointedly, glaring at him with a pointed tilt of his brunet head at the child in the room, seemingly lost in his own world as he continued to throw paint onto the canvas. "Censor yourself." 

Gilbert rolled his eyes but complied. "Fine. He's gonna learn 'em one of these days, though." 

Roderich made a noncommittal noise of disproval. "You don't have to help him." 

"Yeah, yeah." Gilbert leaned up from his slouch against the arm of the sofa, mashing the buttons on his game harder as he grumbled to himself, before leaning back and whooping in victory. "HAH! You ain't got nothin' on the Awesome Me! Suck it!" 

Roderich smiled tightly, ignoring the vulgar exclamation at the end. "Finally. What was this, your fifth try?" He smirked at Gilbert's pout. 

"You're so mean, little master!" Gilbert wailed playfully, tossing the system to the ground and flopping forward, burying his face in his partner's stomach. "I'm hungry," he whined, looking up into violet eyes. 

Roderich held his score up above the albino's head, smiling faintly as he ran his fingers through the soft white hair of his partner. "Then go get something to eat." 

"Make me a sandwich."

Roderich deadpanned and pulled the man's face up by his hair, hearing him hiss. "I'm not your wife; go make it yourself." 

Gilbert whined again but pushed himself up, leaning in to press a kiss to his partner's lips before standing and stretching. He looked over to the little guy contemplating the masterpiece before him. "Hey, Kugel," he called, "you hungry, little guy?" 

Gilbert and Roderich had been travelling the composer's hometown of Vienna the day they met Kugel. They'd been seeing all the sights, as Gilbert had never been since he was from Berlin, and Roderich had wanted to show off his home. They hit several of the stops and had decided to finish by walking by the famous structure of Kugelmugel, the once-micronation that resided within the capital of Austria.

They'd taken pictures of the sphere, of them making silly faces and poses, and just simply standing in front of it when they noticed the little white-haired boy sitting as close to it as he could get, a worn sketchbook in his hands and his face focused on whatever he was drawing, looking between it and the structure and them from time to time. 

No one else had been around, and from the clothes he'd been wearing, he looked, well, homeless. Gilbert's heart immediately went out to him, as he'd been kicked out of his brother's home for a time during a fairly childish rebellious phase – if he were being honest about it – before he'd met Roderich. He'd gone up and introduced himself, gasping shock when the kid looked up and had his partner's eyes exactly, but his hair. 

Roderich had been stunned as well, and they'd questioned him about his family and whatnot. They'd learned they he didn't have one, but liked to hang around Kugelmugel because of its "artistic value." He hadn't had a name, so they'd just called him Kugel, and they took him home. 

After battling some major legal issues with the city, they'd managed to get little Kugel proper documentation and adopt him. They'd been living together as a little family ever since. 

Kugel looked over at him, a neutral expression on his features. "Yes." 

Gilbert smiled. "Alright, then. I'm gonna go make some sandwiches. Any preferences, little master?" 

"You know what I like, Gilbert." 

"I want ham and cheese," Kugel decided, turning back to his work. 

Gilbert nodded at the answers and headed to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for cold cuts and whistling as he threw them together with the expertise of a college graduate who had lived meal to meal on nothing but turkey sandwiches and PB&Js. 

Returning to the studio, he set the plates of sandwiches and the bags of chips he'd decided he wanted on the coffee table. "Alright. Here're some awesome sandwiches made by yours truly. Dig in." 

Roderich set his scores down and turned to the table, grabbing a sandwich and a handful of chips for himself as Gilbert immediately shoveled into his. The Austrian looked up at Kugel, who'd not moved and was staring with a perplexed expression at the canvas before him. "Come eat, Kugel. You can continue when you're done." 

Kugel didn't budge from his spot, but he did turn his body towards the table, still looking at the canvas. 

"It looks like shit." 

Both Roderich and Gilbert choked on the bites of their sandwiches they'd taken at that moment, coughing harshly to dislodge the meat and bread caught in their throats. Gilbert had started laughing during his choking and was now doubled over on the floor, his obnoxious hissing-like laughter filling the air of the room. 

Roderich wasn't so thrilled. He stood with a look of shock on his face. "Kugel!" he reprimanded, moving to the child who simply glanced at him impassively. "We don't say things like that! You know better than that!" He huffed as he pulled the white-haired child to the table. "Where did you even learn that word?" 

Kugel didn't look phased at all as he was scolded, which made Gilbert laughed harder. "Gilbert says it all the time about all kinds of things," he stated, looking back at his canvas. "My art looks like shit." 

Roderich stiffened as his partner began guffawing harder at the child's defending statement, rolling his eyes before smacking him lightly upside the head at his following claim. "Kugel! I told you we don't say that!" 

"Gilbert does. 

Gilbert snickered harder as he gasped for breath, while Roderich could only pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yes, well, Gilbert will be sleeping on the couch tonight," he mumbled, glaring at his partner. 

"No~!" Gilbert gasped through his laughs, still unable to get it together. A wide smile was on his face as he attempted to sit up. "Don't kick me out, little master!" 

The white twin-braid child simply looked between them a moment before seating himself at the table. "Why don't we say 'shit'?" he asked, looking up at Roderich. 

Gilbert continued to laugh, albeit more subdued, as Roderich sighed. "Because words like that are vulgar and beneath us," he explained. "It's called a 'swear' word, and we don't use those. We are proper people, and proper people don't swear." 

"The only proper one here is you, little master," Gilbert said, finally calming down enough to crawl over to his partner and wrap his arms around the Austrian's waist. 

Roderich ignored his actions. "That still does not excuse the use of vulgar language in this house." 

Kugel looked contemplative across the table. "Swear words are bad?" 

"Indeed," Roderich nodded, adjusting his frames. "They express anger and disgust towards your fellow man, and are used as curses against those who don't always deserve them. That is why we don't use them." 

The child was silent for a moment as he glanced back at his painting. "My art is the embodiment of swear words," he said finally. "Angry and disgusted and cursing those who don't deserve it. My art is shit." 

Roderich was dumbfounded at Kugel's reasoning, and even Gilbert was looking at him with an awed expression. "Are you mad at someone, Kugel?" he asked. 

Kugel looked back at them. "No. I just wanted to express the emotions in the art." 

At that, the child grabbed a couple of sandwiches and began eating, leaving Roderich and Gilbert to look at each other with small smiles. Kugel was an interesting child, no doubt. He saw the world differently, saw it through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes filled with intelligence and knowing. Roderich decided to let the swearing slip for the time being. 

"Swearing is an art form," Kugel stated after a moment. "And I think I've captured it on canvas." 

Looking at the harsh contrast of colors and smears on the once-white canvas, Roderich and Gilbert had to agree.   

Swearing was an art.  

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts on tumblr at [whiskey-jim](http://whiskey-jim.tumblr.com) OR [whiskey-jimwrites](http://whiskey-jimwrites.tumblr.com) !!


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